PART SIX
The West Wing Four days later
Toby was in the mess, staring at his half eaten sandwich, when Leo came to sit next to him. He had been forced to come to work for a while, since there were things that couldn't possibly wait, and the rest of the staff had jumped on the occasion to force some food into him.
"No news," Leo said. "His mom just called. He had another dialysis."
"I know, he was scheduled for this morning," Toby answered. He had been there when Sam had come back from the first one, and he winced when he thought that he had had to go through it yet again.
Both Sam's parents had been tested for a possible transplant, but they were still waiting to hear back from that.
The medical staff had installed a catheter for the dialysis, and Sam had told him the last time he had seen him that he had hurt like hell during the procedure, that he still did, actually, but there was no choice.
And then, the first dialysis he'd had hadn't gone too well - Sam hated that he had to be dependant on a machine, and the First Lady, who was keeping tabs on Sam's health, had learned afterwards that the medical staff hadn't been too considerate with him, basically hooking him up to the machine and leaving him alone. He had come back sick, with a horrendous headache, and he had spent the rest of the day staring morosely at the window, only giving monosyllabic answers to whoever was talking to him. Toby, Josh and CJ had taken turns to try to cheer him up that day, but it hadn't seemed to help one bit. Everyone had been relieved when he had been given something to sleep and he had lost consciousness.
Sitting back and being unable to do anything was driving them mad. Toby had heard that Abbey had practically handcuffed the President to his desk before he went on rampage and tried to single-handedly catch the shooter. Toby figured it must be hard - being the leader of the free world, and being unable to save a member of his staff.
He suddenly realized that Leo was staring at him, and that he hadn't spoken for several minutes. "Sorry, you were saying something?"
"I was asking when was the last time you slept."
"I sleep at the hospital. The nurses don't mind, as long as I'm not in their way."
Or else they were too scared to say anything, but he didn't care. He wasn't bothering anyone, and he wasn't going to let anyone tell him that Sam had to go through all that on his own. Josh would back him up, if need be. Hell, the President would back him up, if need be.
"Okay," Leo sighed. "You're going again soon, I presume."
"As soon as I'm done with the comments for the next dinner - whatever," Toby confirmed, not trying to pretend his job was on the list of his priorities right now.
"Tell him that we all think about him, and that I'll try to stop by," Leo said, getting up and leaving Toby alone with his thoughts.
Sam would be allowed out of the hospital soon. Then he would have to adjust to the rhythm of the dialyses. Taking his job back would be nearly impossible for him as long as he would have to undergo the treatment. Toby had tried to find a way that would allow Sam to come back to work, but it was just impossible. He would be able to work from home, and handle a few light projects, yes, but coming back full time was out of the question.
Sam knew it, and it was yet another reason he was feeling down. He had survived the actual shooting, yes, but he was nowhere near getting his life back, and the fact that his struggle wouldn't stop with his release made him pessimistic - who could say when he would be able to get back to normal? Who could say if he would ever be able to?
Sam was obviously fading. He seemed less . "there" each time Toby saw him.
Toby had the feeling his friend didn't even want to fight, and that scared him. And angered him - anger toward the shooter, and toward Sam, who shouldn't give up so easily, who didn't have the right to give up so easily after making his way into Toby's life.
He knew that Sam was already depressed from the shooting, but now that he had to go through the dialysis process, it seemed he was waiting for things to happen to him. He didn't even protest anymore when the hospital staff took him away for yet another series of tests, he just took it, without showing any reaction.
Toby would have preferred anger, bitterness, anything but the defeatism he was witnessing. Sam was a fighter, he shouldn't have lost hope so quickly.
He sighed and prepared to go back to the hospital, hoping that at least, this day's dialysis hadn't been too hard.
* * * * *
Hospital Three hours later
Toby was in the waiting room again, with Sam's parents, who were sitting as far away from each other as they possibly could.
"Both Mr and Mrs Seaborn are incompatible with Sam," the doctor said, and Toby grimaced. It was the best bet, damn it! "We're now checking among the rest of his family, and we put him on the waiting list, but God knows when we'll be able to find a potential donor. These things usually take time."
"Which means?" Toby wanted to know.
"That we're going to send him home soon - probably by the end of the week. Then he'll have to come back for the dialyses, and the post-operation supervision."
"For how long will he have to . ?"
The doctor looked at him compassionately. "It can take a long time, like we can find a donor in a few weeks. There's really no way to know. In the meantime, he has to stay on dialysis. It's not easy to accept, and I know that he's someone independent, who'll have one hell of a hard time adjusting, but there's no other choice here."
Toby nodded. "Okay," he sighed. "Does he know this already?"
"I talked to him earlier, yes," the doctor said. "He wasn't too pleased, either, but I think he's pretty much resigned himself to the situation."
Resigned, yes, that was a good word for his deputy these days.
He didn't want to see him like that, he thought for the hundredth time that day .
He wanted to see him pissed off, angry, fed up, whatever, but not defeated.
"We also recommended that he see one of the hospital's counselors but he declined."
Yes, of course, and they'd have a talk about that soon, Toby reflected.
"And there are a number of precautions he'll have to take, but we'll cover that tomorrow, I think he's had enough for the day," the doctor added, and Toby sighed. The evening was going to be fun, he could feel it already.
He nodded to Sam's parents as they went see their son, and made his way to the phone - time to update the rest of the staff.
* * * * *
"How do you feel?" Toby asked, smiling at Sam, when he entered the room.
He had waited until his parents had gone back to their hotel to come, so Sam would spend less time alone.
Sam shrugged slightly at his question. "Tired. But okay. I've just had a dose of painkillers, it's better."
"Good," Toby said, trying to sound cheerful. He was wondering how to broach the subject of his impending release from the hospital when Sam said, almost as an afterthought, "The cops came."
Toby started. He hadn't been warned about that.
"They wanted to know what happened," Sam continued.
"What happened?" Toby asked carefully, not sure what Sam's reaction would be.
They hadn't talked about it yet. Sam had avoided the subject each time one of his friends had tried to bring it up. But if he was trying to make an opening now, Toby wasn't going to ignore it.
"I . I came out of the pizzeria. I was thinking that it was a great day," he chuckled humorlessly. "When I tried to get into the car, I . someone put a gun at my head, and told me not to move. He took my keys, my wallet, and he ..."
Sam closed his eyes and swallowed. Toby took his hand, and squeezed it lightly. "It's okay."
"So people keep telling me," Sam said, sounding totally unconvinced. "He told me to move away from the car, and I thought he was just going to take the car and go away. Next thing I know, I'm lying on the ground, trying to figure out why someone is asking me why I'm bleeding. I didn't even hear him shoot."
Toby didn't quite know what to answer to that, so he decided to just let Sam talk, like he obviously needed to.
"The cops wanted to know if I had fought," he said. "They said it would have explained why he shot. But I didn't, and not just because cops tell you not to. I was completely frozen, Toby, I could barely move."
He had closed his eyes again, and Toby squeezed the hand he was holding a little more forcefully.
"And now, I'm waiting for someone who doesn't even know I exist to die, so I can have . God, how pathetic am I?"
"Sam, you're not - " Toby tried to say.
"I don't know why he did it," Sam said, not seeming to realize that Toby had said anything. "I don't know why he shot. Was it just because he could?" Sam asked, his voice breaking slightly at the end. "Was that all it was about?"
"I don't know kid. I have no idea. I wish ."
He wished a lot a things, like having been able to prevent it from happening, like being able to spare him from becoming dependent on a machine for what might be months, or even years, like being able to at least explain why it had happened.
Rosslyn had had a reason. A bad one, but the shooters were trying to prove something. What was Sam's assailant trying to prove? That the gun control laws were inefficient? Well, they didn't need the reminder, thank you very much.
"I know," Sam said softly. "I think I'm gonna sleep now. Or pass out, whatever. Dialysis tends to wipe me out."
Toby smiled. "Go ahead, I'll stay for a while. Leo said that he thinks of you lot, by the way. He'll try to stop by."
"Cool," Sam murmured. "I wish I wasn't so tired all the time."
"I know," Toby said, but Sam was already asleep.
The West Wing Four days later
Toby was in the mess, staring at his half eaten sandwich, when Leo came to sit next to him. He had been forced to come to work for a while, since there were things that couldn't possibly wait, and the rest of the staff had jumped on the occasion to force some food into him.
"No news," Leo said. "His mom just called. He had another dialysis."
"I know, he was scheduled for this morning," Toby answered. He had been there when Sam had come back from the first one, and he winced when he thought that he had had to go through it yet again.
Both Sam's parents had been tested for a possible transplant, but they were still waiting to hear back from that.
The medical staff had installed a catheter for the dialysis, and Sam had told him the last time he had seen him that he had hurt like hell during the procedure, that he still did, actually, but there was no choice.
And then, the first dialysis he'd had hadn't gone too well - Sam hated that he had to be dependant on a machine, and the First Lady, who was keeping tabs on Sam's health, had learned afterwards that the medical staff hadn't been too considerate with him, basically hooking him up to the machine and leaving him alone. He had come back sick, with a horrendous headache, and he had spent the rest of the day staring morosely at the window, only giving monosyllabic answers to whoever was talking to him. Toby, Josh and CJ had taken turns to try to cheer him up that day, but it hadn't seemed to help one bit. Everyone had been relieved when he had been given something to sleep and he had lost consciousness.
Sitting back and being unable to do anything was driving them mad. Toby had heard that Abbey had practically handcuffed the President to his desk before he went on rampage and tried to single-handedly catch the shooter. Toby figured it must be hard - being the leader of the free world, and being unable to save a member of his staff.
He suddenly realized that Leo was staring at him, and that he hadn't spoken for several minutes. "Sorry, you were saying something?"
"I was asking when was the last time you slept."
"I sleep at the hospital. The nurses don't mind, as long as I'm not in their way."
Or else they were too scared to say anything, but he didn't care. He wasn't bothering anyone, and he wasn't going to let anyone tell him that Sam had to go through all that on his own. Josh would back him up, if need be. Hell, the President would back him up, if need be.
"Okay," Leo sighed. "You're going again soon, I presume."
"As soon as I'm done with the comments for the next dinner - whatever," Toby confirmed, not trying to pretend his job was on the list of his priorities right now.
"Tell him that we all think about him, and that I'll try to stop by," Leo said, getting up and leaving Toby alone with his thoughts.
Sam would be allowed out of the hospital soon. Then he would have to adjust to the rhythm of the dialyses. Taking his job back would be nearly impossible for him as long as he would have to undergo the treatment. Toby had tried to find a way that would allow Sam to come back to work, but it was just impossible. He would be able to work from home, and handle a few light projects, yes, but coming back full time was out of the question.
Sam knew it, and it was yet another reason he was feeling down. He had survived the actual shooting, yes, but he was nowhere near getting his life back, and the fact that his struggle wouldn't stop with his release made him pessimistic - who could say when he would be able to get back to normal? Who could say if he would ever be able to?
Sam was obviously fading. He seemed less . "there" each time Toby saw him.
Toby had the feeling his friend didn't even want to fight, and that scared him. And angered him - anger toward the shooter, and toward Sam, who shouldn't give up so easily, who didn't have the right to give up so easily after making his way into Toby's life.
He knew that Sam was already depressed from the shooting, but now that he had to go through the dialysis process, it seemed he was waiting for things to happen to him. He didn't even protest anymore when the hospital staff took him away for yet another series of tests, he just took it, without showing any reaction.
Toby would have preferred anger, bitterness, anything but the defeatism he was witnessing. Sam was a fighter, he shouldn't have lost hope so quickly.
He sighed and prepared to go back to the hospital, hoping that at least, this day's dialysis hadn't been too hard.
* * * * *
Hospital Three hours later
Toby was in the waiting room again, with Sam's parents, who were sitting as far away from each other as they possibly could.
"Both Mr and Mrs Seaborn are incompatible with Sam," the doctor said, and Toby grimaced. It was the best bet, damn it! "We're now checking among the rest of his family, and we put him on the waiting list, but God knows when we'll be able to find a potential donor. These things usually take time."
"Which means?" Toby wanted to know.
"That we're going to send him home soon - probably by the end of the week. Then he'll have to come back for the dialyses, and the post-operation supervision."
"For how long will he have to . ?"
The doctor looked at him compassionately. "It can take a long time, like we can find a donor in a few weeks. There's really no way to know. In the meantime, he has to stay on dialysis. It's not easy to accept, and I know that he's someone independent, who'll have one hell of a hard time adjusting, but there's no other choice here."
Toby nodded. "Okay," he sighed. "Does he know this already?"
"I talked to him earlier, yes," the doctor said. "He wasn't too pleased, either, but I think he's pretty much resigned himself to the situation."
Resigned, yes, that was a good word for his deputy these days.
He didn't want to see him like that, he thought for the hundredth time that day .
He wanted to see him pissed off, angry, fed up, whatever, but not defeated.
"We also recommended that he see one of the hospital's counselors but he declined."
Yes, of course, and they'd have a talk about that soon, Toby reflected.
"And there are a number of precautions he'll have to take, but we'll cover that tomorrow, I think he's had enough for the day," the doctor added, and Toby sighed. The evening was going to be fun, he could feel it already.
He nodded to Sam's parents as they went see their son, and made his way to the phone - time to update the rest of the staff.
* * * * *
"How do you feel?" Toby asked, smiling at Sam, when he entered the room.
He had waited until his parents had gone back to their hotel to come, so Sam would spend less time alone.
Sam shrugged slightly at his question. "Tired. But okay. I've just had a dose of painkillers, it's better."
"Good," Toby said, trying to sound cheerful. He was wondering how to broach the subject of his impending release from the hospital when Sam said, almost as an afterthought, "The cops came."
Toby started. He hadn't been warned about that.
"They wanted to know what happened," Sam continued.
"What happened?" Toby asked carefully, not sure what Sam's reaction would be.
They hadn't talked about it yet. Sam had avoided the subject each time one of his friends had tried to bring it up. But if he was trying to make an opening now, Toby wasn't going to ignore it.
"I . I came out of the pizzeria. I was thinking that it was a great day," he chuckled humorlessly. "When I tried to get into the car, I . someone put a gun at my head, and told me not to move. He took my keys, my wallet, and he ..."
Sam closed his eyes and swallowed. Toby took his hand, and squeezed it lightly. "It's okay."
"So people keep telling me," Sam said, sounding totally unconvinced. "He told me to move away from the car, and I thought he was just going to take the car and go away. Next thing I know, I'm lying on the ground, trying to figure out why someone is asking me why I'm bleeding. I didn't even hear him shoot."
Toby didn't quite know what to answer to that, so he decided to just let Sam talk, like he obviously needed to.
"The cops wanted to know if I had fought," he said. "They said it would have explained why he shot. But I didn't, and not just because cops tell you not to. I was completely frozen, Toby, I could barely move."
He had closed his eyes again, and Toby squeezed the hand he was holding a little more forcefully.
"And now, I'm waiting for someone who doesn't even know I exist to die, so I can have . God, how pathetic am I?"
"Sam, you're not - " Toby tried to say.
"I don't know why he did it," Sam said, not seeming to realize that Toby had said anything. "I don't know why he shot. Was it just because he could?" Sam asked, his voice breaking slightly at the end. "Was that all it was about?"
"I don't know kid. I have no idea. I wish ."
He wished a lot a things, like having been able to prevent it from happening, like being able to spare him from becoming dependent on a machine for what might be months, or even years, like being able to at least explain why it had happened.
Rosslyn had had a reason. A bad one, but the shooters were trying to prove something. What was Sam's assailant trying to prove? That the gun control laws were inefficient? Well, they didn't need the reminder, thank you very much.
"I know," Sam said softly. "I think I'm gonna sleep now. Or pass out, whatever. Dialysis tends to wipe me out."
Toby smiled. "Go ahead, I'll stay for a while. Leo said that he thinks of you lot, by the way. He'll try to stop by."
"Cool," Sam murmured. "I wish I wasn't so tired all the time."
"I know," Toby said, but Sam was already asleep.
